


Carry On, Carry On

by HopeCoppice



Series: Falling From Grace [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, Healing, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Other, Unorthodox Conception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-29 18:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20086501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Three years after the apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale are still working on healing old wounds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we go...

It was on a gloriously sunny morning that Aziraphale and Crowley climbed into the Bentley, bound for Lower Tadfield. 

"Fourteen," Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale reached out to touch his knee.

"How are you holding up?"

"Godparents - it's better than nothing." Aziraphale said nothing, waiting for Crowley to go on, and the demon sighed. "I mean, loads better. Obviously. It's just-"

"I know, dear."

"And the witch will be there." Ah.  _ That _ was why today was different from Adam's previous two birthdays. Aziraphale had been a fool not to think of it.

Anathema and Newt had wasted very little time, after the world hadn't ended, in settling down together in Jasmine Cottage. They'd even invited Crowley and Aziraphale to their wedding. However, for the last eleven months - since the birth of the Pulsifer twins - Crowley had done whatever he could to avoid going near the place. Today, the family were certain to be at the annual Adam's-birthday-and-apocalypse-anniversary celebration. 

"I see. You didn't seem to mind last year, when she was expecting." Anathema had been seven months pregnant, and Crowley had been as civil as ever.

"I never- I never wanted to be pregnant, never would have been. But babies, it's just…"

"Hits a nerve?" Aziraphale ventured, when it became clear that Crowley wasn't going to continue. Crowley nodded miserably and put his foot down to overtake a police car at full throttle. They were not, it seemed, going to be late to the party.

* * *

Crowley knew he must be doing a terrible job of hiding his misery. Aziraphale kept watching him with obvious concern, even as the angel flitted around the party making polite conversation. Anathema, a baby in her arms, had taken one look at his aura and given him a wide berth. They all knew what had happened; he had never asked Adam to keep it a secret. The boy himself kept stealing glances in his direction from where he sat, Dog at his feet, among a pile of presents. Anyone, in fact, with any hint of an affinity for the supernatural could see that Crowley was just one big ball of pain and anxiety.

Newton Pulsifer, apart from being very much in love with a witch, had no such affinity.

"Crowley, good to see you. You haven't met Lottie, have you? Anathema has Bobby, over there."

"Lovely," Crowley drawled, and meant it. Despite the horrible, gnawing jealousy in his soul, he was happy for the pair. They seemed to glow with the excitement of new parenthood. "Congratulations to you both."

"Oh, Anathema did all the hard work," Newt assured him, and then he asked a question that brought Aziraphale to a dead halt, halfway across the garden on his way to intervene. "Would you like to hold her?"

Crowley stared at him in disbelief as he held out the baby. How could he be so cavalier about handing his daughter to a demon? Didn't he know what a precious thing he was holding?

"Alright," he said, slowly and clearly, but he made no motion to take her. "Only for a little while, though. You'll take her back?"

"Of course I will. I'm not just going to give my daughter to you and disappear." Crowley flinched, but it seemed Newt hadn't been making a point; he just hadn't made the connection in his head. The important thing, Crowley forced himself to remember, was that Newt had stated his intention to take the baby back; no matter what cruel supernatural machinations might crop up, he wasn't accidentally relinquishing his paternity of the child by handing it to Crowley. Willing his hands not to tremble - he had held infants before, bless it all - he reached out and carefully took little Lottie Pulsifer into his arms.

She was larger and heavier, of course, than Adam had been; she wasn't a newborn, after all. As he carefully settled her in his lap, she looked up at him with huge, dark eyes, a puzzled expression on her little face as she stared at the stranger. She was confused by his lack of eyes, he thought suddenly, and vanished his sunglasses before he could consider that  _ seeing  _ his eyes might frighten her. Sure enough, her eyes went very wide… and then she let out a squeal.

"I'm sorry- here, take her back-" But Newt was cooing at his daughter, apparently unperturbed by the high-pitched noise she'd just emitted.

"Aw, Lottie, are Uncle Crowley's eyes funny?"

Crowley looked down at the child, baffled to see that she was indeed laughing and grabbing at his face.

" _ Uncle… _ Crowley?" 

Newt went very pale and began stuttering. "Er… that is… if you don't mind? We aren't doing godfathers, and we wouldn't ask anyway because of Adam, but Anathema grew up with loads of aunts she wasn't strictly related to and we thought, er-"

"Uncle Crowley is honoured," he told him, surprised by the amount of emotion welling up inside him, "as long as you don't mind that Uncle Crowley is Auntie Crowley sometimes."

"No. Not at all. Why would we?"

Crowley sat, bouncing Lottie gently on his knee and murmuring nonsense at her, for some ten minutes before Anathema and Aziraphale joined them. Crowley still  _ burned _ , they must be able to see that, still ached with the knowledge that this happiness could have been -  _ should _ have been - his, too. Still, Anathema took a seat beside him, and Aziraphale sat on the other side of her to pour blessings over the children. He made no attempt to take Bobby from his mother, though Anathema did offer; instead, the angel just talked to them both. Crowley felt his heart break afresh; Aziraphale was so good, and these children were so blessed, now, that it seemed impossible that they should ever know sorrow. The angel had offered Adam his blessings, once, not long after the apocalypse, but Adam had assured him that he wanted for nothing and, of course, pointed out that they had no idea if angelic blessings would react badly with his demonic heritage. 

Suddenly, Crowley was pressing Lottie back into her father's arms; he was here for his son, and he'd barely spoken to him. He strode across the garden to where Adam sat, holding court with the Them. He would wait, and then he would wish him a happy birthday, and when the party was over he would go home and cry until he couldn't any more.

* * *

Aziraphale didn't really know what to do with small children. He knew, in a detached sort of way, that even tiny babies liked to be spoken to in warm, cheerful tones, and that it was important not to hold them upside down, and that none of them had ever deserved to be wiped out in a great flood - but that was about the extent of it. He stood in the middle of the garden and stared as Crowley exchanged quick, careful words with Newt before accepting the burden of Lottie in his arms. For a moment, demon and child stared at each other - and then Lottie began to giggle. Crowley made as if to hand her back, of course, but then he was distracted by something Newt said. Aziraphale watched him bouncing the child on his knee and felt  _ awful. _ For Crowley, of course, and for Adam, who kept stealing glances at the baby on Crowley's lap, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Anathema came to stand beside him, her son in her arms and her eyes fixed on her daughter. 

"I'm sorry about Newt. He has a great many qualities, but he's terrible at reading people."

"I don't know," Aziraphale admitted, "I think Crowley's becoming rather fond friends with your Lottie."

"Good. We wanted to ask if you'd like to be honorary uncles."

"Oh, dear girl. Delighted, I'm sure."

"We'd have asked earlier, but we haven't seen you. I guess now I can see why."

Aziraphale focused, shutting his celestial senses down until he saw what the witch saw.

"Oh. Yes." Even from such a limited human perspective, Crowley's aura was spiky and dark with pain.

"He's hurting so badly," Anathema murmured, "but he's so good with her."

They sat nearby, Aziraphale politely refusing to take Bobby; he was almost certain he'd drop him and besides, he didn't know how Crowley would react to seeing a mother hand over her child. Obviously, he'd managed with Newt, but Aziraphale had no desire to test him further. Newt drifted over to talk to them, confident that Crowley could be trusted with his daughter, and Aziraphale got both parents' permission to bless the children. He did, with every blessing he knew, and barely paused in his work when Crowley abruptly handed Lottie back to her father and sloped off without a word.

Aziraphale didn't want to turn and stare; he didn't want to make Crowley uncomfortable. So he focused on reaching out to touch Lottie's nose - she giggled - and was relieved when Anathema used her opposing vantage point to reassure him.

"Adam," she mumbled, almost too softly to be heard, and Aziraphale nodded. Of course Crowley would want to spend some time with the son he'd never had a chance to bounce on his knee.

"He'll be all right," he whispered, hoping it didn't sound too much like a question, and then he fixed his attention firmly on his blessings.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley sat down near Adam and waited for the boy to finish talking to his friends. It wasn't a long wait; the Them saw each other almost every day, after all, unlike the rest of Adam's party guests. Before long, the former Antichrist wandered over to join his former mother.

"Hi, Crowley. Thanks for the D&D books."

"I hope you like them. The idea made me laugh, so I had to get you them."

"It'll definitely give us something to do when it gets cold."

All too often, their conversations became stilted like this - like strangers playing at being familiar. It was worst when one or both of them was fighting strong emotions; Crowley knew that very well.

"Something bothering you, Adam?"

"No." The boy sighed. "Yeah. Kind of."

"Anything I can help with?"

"I dunno." There was a short silence between them, and then, "I saw you with the baby."

"They said I could hold her, I didn't want to be rude-" Crowley rushed to excuse his behaviour, but Adam shook his head.

"It's not- I'm not jealous. I just, well, I figured I didn't owe you anything, before."

"And you don't."

"But I wish I could do something for you. To make up for you not getting to bring me up."

"Adam. You don't owe me anything. Besides…" He wanted to tell him that it didn't matter, that he'd never wanted a child of his own anyway, but Adam wasn't stupid and lying to him was. "I get to see you grow up. That's more than I ever could have dreamed of."

"Yeah." Adam didn't look convinced, but he smiled all the same. "Good thing we stopped Armageddon, really."

They were silent for a moment, remembering the events of that mad week three years earlier, and then Adam asked a question Crowley had been hoping he never would.

"How did you make me?" The birds and the bees talk was definitely Arthur Young's department, but this was a more specific question, beyond Arthur's remit.

"I only know what I was told," Crowley warned him, "which is that your- the- Sa-"

"Him," Adam nodded, used to this particular issue of Crowley's; he never knew how to refer to Satan in company. "Go on."

"Well, never mind the details, but there was a moment when you _ could _ have happened, between us. And what he told me was that he took that moment and breathed life into it. Made it into you."

"And he never bothered to tell you?"

"He never told me," Crowley confirmed softly.

"Bastard." Somehow, that made the demon feel much better.

"Yup."

They chatted a little longer, about the village and the houseplants and Aziraphale, and then it was time for cake. Crowley couldn't help but notice, with a swell of pride, that Adam had started to move like a particularly gangly serpent. If he inherited nothing else, at least he had something of his trademark swagger. He told himself that was all the mark he needed to leave on the world.

* * *

Aziraphale was just wondering if he should try to extract Crowley from the party before the demon's heart gave out, when his godson sidled up to him bearing cake. Aziraphale couldn't resist cake.

"Can I tempt you?" Adam teased, and Aziraphale almost dropped the paper plate as it was handed to him.

"_Heavens_, you remind me of him sometimes."

"Sorry." Adam didn't look sorry in the slightest; in fact, he looked rather proud of himself. Crowley didn't seem to have heard, now sitting alone and staring into the space beyond the Pulsifer family, who were rapidly becoming covered in icing. "Can we talk?"

Angel and Antichrist settled on the grass together, out of earshot of the rest of the party, and Adam let him fill his mouth with cake before diving into the big questions.

"Did you ever want kids, Aziraphale?"

He choked, more to buy himself time than out of any actual need to breathe. Crowley's eyes fixed on him until he regained his composure, then slid back to the twins.

"Er. I haven't given it much thought." 

Lying to Adam was pointless and stupid, but he needed a moment more to sort through his thoughts. He _ had _ thought about it, of course - especially since everything with Adam, and before that when they had looked after Warlock. He wasn't _ good _ with children; since the Flood, he had hardly been able to look at them. He was still, millennia later, so ashamed that he hadn't dared to help, that he had left Crowley to save those he could alone, that even meeting Warlock had reduced him to uselessness again. Crowley had taken one look at him and told him there was a reason he'd got the easy job.

Over the first few weeks, as they'd worked to influence Warlock's views, he'd felt worse and worse, until finally Crowley had dragged him aside and told him to pull himself together.

"I just- all those kids- in the Flood-"

"We did all we could. We _ both _ did," Crowley had hissed, "or are you telling me you _ didn't _deliberately leave the back doors of the Ark open while you had Shem repoint the roof at the front?"

"I- well, yes, but-"

"You knew what I was doing, and you helped. Couldn't have done it without you. Now stop beating yourself up about it, the boy's worried about you."

And Aziraphale had pulled himself together. He had done his best to impart Heavenly lessons on Warlock, and he had left most of the actual care to Crowley. He’d been quite surprised by how much he’d liked looking after Warlock, actually, despite the boy becoming something of a challenging personality as he grew.

Adam hadn’t asked that, though. He’d asked if Aziraphale had ever _ wanted _ kids. And for most of his existence, he hadn’t even considered it. Breeding with humans was against the rules - besides which, Aziraphale had never found a human he’d have wanted to have a child with - and the only immortal being he’d ever have considered pledging his life and future to had been working for the _ other side _ . Besides, there had been nothing to suggest that an angel _ could _have a child. It hadn’t been possible, so Aziraphale hadn’t given it any thought.

After Adam, though, after Crowley had found out about Satan’s greatest betrayal, it had been unthinkable for completely different reasons. How could he even _think_ about the idea of having children when the demon he loved had suffered so terribly over one? Crowley was almost destroyed by what had happened, and for months he could barely pass a child in the street without Aziraphale having to take him by the elbow and guide him home. Crowley, it was very plain to see, would have been a good parent if he’d been given a chance; Aziraphale had spent more time than he liked to admit trying to imagine Crowley rocking a child to sleep, or playing with his own child the way he had entertained young Warlock Dowling. Aziraphale had, on occasion, considered how Crowley might rock _their _child, but that was impossible too. Regardless of the metaphysical complications, and the fact that Crowley had spent all of his time making a masculine sort of effort since he’d last been to Hell - though Aziraphale had no idea if that was relevant - the most important barrier to Crowley’s ever having a child was that he would never want to feel he was replacing Adam. And Aziraphale, for his part, had never even thought of having a child with anyone else, and didn’t intend to start now.

“You _ have _ thought about it, though,” Adam told him, around a mouthful of cake, and Aziraphale sighed.

“I have, and I came to the conclusion that it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Why not?”

“Impossible, dear boy. And I prefer not to dwell on it.”

“What if it wasn’t impossible, though? What if it was just… ineffable?” If there was ever a sign that he and Crowley were having _ too much _ of an influence on Adam, surely that was it.

“Well. I suppose, in an absolutely perfect world - which, as an angel, I ought to say this is, but there are _ reasons _I’m not welcome in Heaven any more - I suppose I’m not opposed to the idea. Why?” He almost dropped his cake again as a thought occurred to him. “G- er- you haven’t got some poor girl in trouble, have you?”

Adam didn’t even dignify that with any response but a dismissive snort. Instead, he glanced around to make sure that his other godfather was still distracted, then leaned in close.

“I just think maybe you should talk to Crowley about it.”

“Absolutely not. It’s not your fault, of course, Adam, but… you saw how he reacted to Lottie.”

“I did. Did _ you _?”

“Of course I did. He _ hurts _.”

“He _ wants _ ,” Adam told him, more confidently than any fourteen-year-old should have been able to. “He thinks he just wants _ me _ , his _ old _ son, but that’s stupid. Everything was all wrong, then. But now, if he had a kid… he could do it right, with someone he could trust.”

“_ Adam! _” Aziraphale was taken aback - but Adam was already backing off, still clutching his paper plate.

“Just think about it. I’m gonna go and get some more cake.” He paused, three steps away, then turned back with a shrug. “But he knows how, even if you don’t.”

_ Well, _ Aziraphale thought to himself, _ that was unexpected. _ Then he pushed the bizarre conversation from his mind and walked over to where Crowley was listlessly - but deliberately - pushing the Bentley’s keys around their ring. It was time to go.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley went straight to bed when they got home, only mildly surprised when Aziraphale joined him.

"Shouldn't you open the shop?"

"Goodness, no. People would only try to buy things. I'd much rather cuddle up with you."

"And what makes you think I'd allow you to cuddle me?" He was already opening his arms, Aziraphale settling into them as if the space against Crowley's chest was made for him.

"I know. You don't do cuddles." Crowley squeezed him gently to prove the point, and the angel let out a happy sigh. "You did so well today, dear. So very, very brave."

"All I did was hold a baby," Crowley shrugged, though denying his difficulties was pointless. "I like babies."

"You do, don't you?” Aziraphale sounded as though he was thinking about it altogether too hard; Crowley squinted at him suspiciously.

“Are you gonna tease me about it?”

“Oh, my dear. Never. Do you want to talk about today?”

“No.” Crowley thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, not right now. I, er, might be getting a touch of hayfever, though.”

“Not a problem,” Aziraphale assured him, “and it’s also just fine if you need to cry.”

“Shut up,” Crowley mumbled, but he buried his face against Aziraphale’s neck all the same, and hoped the angel wouldn’t mind his collar getting soaked. For a long time, after they’d first got together, Crowley would abruptly turn into a snake whenever he felt tears threaten - snakes, after all, couldn’t cry - and Aziraphale was still fond of telling him that he was honoured to be permitted to witness what tears Crowley allowed to fall. Sure enough, the angel simply rubbed his back until he’d cried himself out, and then the gentle enquiries began.

“Would you like to talk now, love?”

“Don’t know what to say.” He took a deep breath that hissed more than it should. “They’re a lovely family.”

“You just wish it had been your own child you were holding?”

“He’s a little big for that,” Crowley tried to joke, and then remembered that Adam _ wasn’t _ his child any more. He didn’t have one. “I mean… my godson.”

“What about- that is- I mean, if everything with Adam hadn’t happened.” Aziraphale was on dangerous ground now, and a single glance told Crowley that he knew it. “Would you want children?”

“Impossible, angel.” At least, Crowley had always thought it was impossible, until it turned out that Adam _ had _happened. “Besides, nobody wants a demon raising a child.”

“Most demons, perhaps. But most demons don’t hold babies quite like that.”

“Did you know they’re calling us their uncles?” It was a desperate attempt to change the subject, to force the conversation in a different direction before he had to actually try to sort out his feelings on the matter. Aziraphale nodded, smiling patiently.

“Very kind of them. Did you want to talk about that instead?” He did; he wanted to talk about anything but the difficult emotions burning him up inside. But Aziraphale had asked him a question, and he deserved a proper answer.

“I’d have- I mean, if I’d known it was possible- and not with that _bastard_, even if he hadn’t- I just-” He took a deep, steadying breath. “I’d have liked the chance to be a parent.”

Aziraphale looked down at him with such soft fondness that Crowley’s breath caught.

“My dearest demon,” he murmured, and pressed the gentlest of kisses to his temple. Crowley waited for him to continue speaking, but he continued kissing instead until Crowley shifted to capture his lips with his own. If the angel was going to insist on kissing him, they were going to kiss properly.

* * *

Later, Aziraphale lay back against the pillows, book forgotten, Crowley’s head resting comfortably in his lap. The demon was asleep, oblivious to the way Aziraphale’s fingers played with the strands of his hair as he thought.

_ I’d have liked the chance to be a parent. _ The words were Crowley’s, but they weren’t exactly foreign to Aziraphale, either. Once or twice, he’d followed his demon’s wistful gaze towards Adam and found himself wondering, _ what if he’d been ours instead? _ Then he’d always shaken it off; he didn’t like to dwell on Crowley’s less-than-healthy former relationship with Satan, but the fact remained that it had happened, and Adam was the result. Aziraphale was lucky to be his godfather; he certainly had no claim on him, however much he sometimes wished that he and Crowley could have raised him.

Adam was right; Crowley knew how Adam had been made. He had told Aziraphale. They both knew the theory, assuming that Satan had been telling the truth. Metaphysically speaking, there was very little to stop them from having their own child, if they wanted. The problem was that Aziraphale didn’t have the faintest idea how to discuss it with the love of his existence. It would sound like he wanted Crowley to replace Adam, something he knew Crowley would never want to do. It would be a lot to spring on him, especially since neither of them were sure, beyond an abstract, hypothetical sort of feeling, what they wanted. Would Crowley really want another child, one he could keep this time? Did _ Aziraphale _? He didn’t know.

He didn’t bring it up for several days, as Crowley’s mood improved and they began to go on their usual dates. Dinner at the Ritz wasn’t the same, though, with questions pounding through his veins and secrets buzzing in his head. The ducks swarmed as he stood by the lake, slice of bread in hand, forgetting to throw it. He didn’t even have the presence of mind to heckle Crowley about his driving as he almost flattened a school crossing guard at 110mph. That, it seemed, was too much for the demon; he pulled over.

“Aziraphale. What the He- Hea- what on _ Earth _is wrong with you?” Aziraphale must have looked as surprised as he felt, because Crowley’s expression softened. “You’ve been weird all week.”

“I, er, I’ve been thinking.”

“I can see that, angel. Anything I can help with?”

“Maybe when we’re at home.”

Crowley didn't look any less worried, but he put the car back into gear. Aziraphale had just a few more minutes to work out what on earth he was going to say.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley had got them back to the bookshop - Aziraphale seemed unsettled, so his home would be a better place to talk. And talk they would; Crowley would wait as long as it took for his angel to get his thoughts in order.

As it turned out, it didn’t take long. As soon as tea was made, Aziraphale began babbling. It was a good thing they didn’t have to play games with Heaven and Hell any more, really, because once Aziraphale got going there was no telling what he might divulge.

“I suppose it’s wanting to talk to you that’s had my head all over the place. I just didn’t know how to. You know, your- er, godson, is surprisingly perceptive considering his genes.”

“Adam said something to you?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Not causing trouble, I hope?”

“Hm? No. Not intentionally, I don’t think. He wants good things for you, you know. I’m just not sure if he was barking up the right tree, and I’ve been a bit worried about bringing it up in case- well, I don’t want to upset you, Crowley.”

That was worrying. What could Adam have said that would upset him? “What did he say about me?”

“Oh- no. Oh, dear. You see, I’m getting it all wrong. It wasn’t anything cruel, my dear. He just said- well- if we wanted to- he pointed out- that we know how.”

Crowley thought he deserved some credit for turning that over in his head for as long as he did - thirty seconds or so, by his reckoning - before accepting that his angel was making no sense whatsoever.

“What?”

“See, I didn’t think it was necessarily appropriate, either, but I thought it was worth discussing-”

“No. Angel. Back up. Pointed out that we know how to _ what_, exactly?”

Aziraphale, halted mid-ramble, took a moment to find his place and then turned bright red. “Well, it’s just- and I think the fact that Adam brought it up is reassuring in a way, because it means he’s not worried about being replaced-”

“Angel-”

“We know how to create a child.”

The air seemed to have rushed out of the room. Normally, that wouldn’t bother Crowley, being a demon and not strictly needing to breathe, but he found himself wondering where it had gone to. Not out of the front door of the shop; that was locked. Perhaps it was all building up in the shop itself, threatening to throw Aziraphale’s beloved books on the floor. Wherever it was, it certainly wasn’t in the back room with them. He grasped desperately for a coherent thought, and only managed to seize a question.

“What- what exactly did Adam say?” And Aziraphale told him, and Crowley caught most of it, which he thought was quite impressive between the speed of Aziraphale’s explanation and the fact that most of his mind seemed to be fluttering about in the general vicinity of the words _ create a child_, leaving very little brainpower available to focus on Aziraphale.

“Adam said I wanted a kid of my own?”

“He thought so, at least, when he saw you with Lottie. He, ah, he asked how _ I _felt about the idea.”

“Is that why he asked me how it happened? That devious little…” Crowley couldn’t keep a hint of pride from his voice. “But he shouldn’t have done that, that’s… he should never have asked you about it.”

“Don’t you want to know what I said?”

Crowley’s blood ran cold. It always had, of course, but now he finally understood the human expression. He wasn’t sure which possibility scared him most; Aziraphale wanting a child Crowley couldn’t bear to give him, or Aziraphale not wanting one at all. Because Crowley _ did _want, of course he did, but he had no idea what the attempt might do to him. He was barely coping with Adam’s existence as it was.

“Angel, you don’t have to-”

“I didn’t tell him, really, I suppose. I told him in a perfect world, I _ might _ want a child. Your- That is, a child we could- but I know it’s not a perfect world, Crowley. I know that’s not how it is.”

“Because I fucked Satan,” Crowley agreed miserably, surprised when the angel’s wings flew out and knocked several items of furniture over.

“_Will you stop assuming that?” _ Aziraphale seemed to realise what he was doing, gathering his wings in with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t _ care_, Crowley, except that he hurt you. And he _ did _ hurt you, and that’s why- that’s why I’m afraid to talk to you about this.” And if nothing else he’d said had quite penetrated Crowley’s soul, that did.

“...You’re afraid of me, angel?”

“I’m afraid of hurting you, Crowley. Which is why I want you to understand that I don’t _ need _a child. All I need is you, and if you don’t want that with me-”

“But what if I do?” He didn’t mean to say it; he felt himself shrink back from his beloved, and Aziraphale smiled sadly at him.

“Then, my love, we can talk about it. Whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

They did talk about it, gradually, over the next few months.

“I like the idea,” Crowley ventured hesitantly, a few days after their initial conversation, “of helping you teach our child to read.” 

And Aziraphale simply smiled, and said, “What a lovely thought,” and let it lie.

“I like the idea,” Aziraphale offered, weeks later, “of our building a soft, warm pillow-fort and snuggling up inside it with our little one.”

And Crowley made a strangled sort of noise, and nodded. “Me too,” he whispered, and let it lie.

“I like the _ idea_,” Crowley told him, as autumn blew in, “but I’m afraid I’d never trust a babysitter.”

“That’s understandable,” Aziraphale hummed, “but we could probably make do without one.”

“I wouldn’t want Adam to feel replaced,” Aziraphale confessed, as he watched tiny children in spooky costumes plunder the sweet bins he’d set outside the shop, and Crowley shook his head.

“He wouldn’t be. We’d love them both.” That last sentence had sounded too much like a question, and Aziraphale had spent an hour reassuring Crowley that no matter how big their little family might get, Adam would always be the first.

“How do you feel about commuting?”

“I could live with it. It’s not as though I can’t just-” Aziraphale clicked his fingers to indicate teleportation, almost dislodging the paper poppy Crowley was trying to pin onto his lapel. “Why?”

“Flats in London might not be the perfect place for a kid,” Crowley told him, averting his eyes, and Aziraphale reached out to turn his face towards him.

“We could get a place in the country,” he told him, “with a nice garden, maybe.”

“Sussex,” Aziraphale murmured one day in December, and passed Crowley a picture of a little cottage as he meandered through the shop, tidying the books. It was an hour or so later that a familiar hand reached past him, deliberately undoing his meticulous system just to wind him up.

“Do you want to?” He felt the demon’s serpent-like tongue flicker against the shell of his ear, and shivered slightly. It was distracting.

“The cottage, or the baby?”

“Either. Both.”

“Yes.” It had become clear, over the course of their many brief conversations on the subject. And he thought, if he’d read the demon right… “Do _ you _ want to?”

_ “Yessssss.” _It seemed as though Crowley had startled himself, because his hands suddenly came to rest on Aziraphale’s hips, as if to steady himself. “Yes.”

And Aziraphale turned and kissed him, and let it lie.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most sexually-charged bit of this fic, I'm afraid. It's mostly handwaved but if you prefer not to read it you can skip the middle section and, er, hopefully it'll be clear what's happened.
> 
> Sorry to tie this particular miracle so closely to sex, but it made the most sense with what had gone before!

By the time all the paperwork went through on the cottage - Crowley had insisted that they buy it without significant miraculous assistance, and he knew Aziraphale had understood that he needed those few extra weeks to really get used to the idea - it was the beginning of February. They stood at their new garden gate, under the bare branches of the apple tree that stood beside it, and drank in the sight of their new home.

Moving inside, they marvelled all over again - as if they hadn’t visited before they signed the papers - at the study lined with bookshelves, waiting to be filled with Aziraphale’s favourites, and the conservatory where Crowley’s plants could thrive. They smiled at the kitchen, cosy and quaint, with a little fireplace for Crowley to warm himself beside, and the dining room, spacious enough to seat eight but ideal for just two or three. They fussed awhile over their bedroom, getting things set up  _ just so _ , and then they stepped next door into a smaller, empty room with a large window and a potential that only they knew.

“This would be the nursery?” Aziraphale murmured, eyes never leaving Crowley’s face, and all he could do was nod, jaw clenched tight. Even now, even here, it was hard to believe that they were going to try to do it.

They’d spoken to Adam about it, of course, asked him how he really felt about it, and he’d assured them that he would be thrilled to be, in his words, a godbrother. He’d been quite excited about it, in fact, and Crowley had had to put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“We’re going to try,” he’d warned him, “but we don’t know if it’ll work. We’re not him.”

“It’ll work,” Adam had assured him, with the sort of confidence that only a boy once capable of altering reality could possess.

Privately, Crowley was still afraid that they wouldn’t be powerful enough, or that one of them would have too many doubts; that it would be more complicated than it seemed, and they would have to give up. They would, perhaps, use the little empty room as storage, or convert it into a home cinema, or simply fill it with more houseplants - but it would always be a reminder of what couldn’t be. He said as much to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale squeezed his hand.

“We won’t know until we try,” he pointed out, “and there’s no rush.”

They took their time in getting the house the way they wanted it - arranging furniture, then rearranging it until they were satisfied - but with a little miraculous assistance, they were soon settled in. It was early in March that Crowley prowled into the living room to find Aziraphale reading, and hesitated for only a few seconds before putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Mind if I interrupt?”

“Not at all. I’ve read this before.” Then the angel turned to look at him, and Crowley watched him notice every sign of tension and nervous excitement in his body. “Crowley?”

“Still want to try, angel?”

“If you do.”

“I do.” And Aziraphale smiled, allowing himself to be led up into their bedroom.

* * *

When they reached the bedroom, Crowley slipped over to the mirror, studying himself critically, and Aziraphale wondered what he could be thinking. Certainly, nothing in Crowley’s reflection merited that dissatisfied little frown.

“You look wonderful, my dear.” When the demon didn’t respond, he frowned himself. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you think it matters?” Crowley twisted to the side, his form rippling slightly, and for a fraction of a second Aziraphale saw the swell of breasts and a widening of hips. Then they were gone, Crowley sighing irritably. “How I’m shaped? For it to work?”

“My love, I’m almost certain it doesn’t. How do you want to be, right now?”

“I want- I don’t know. But I haven’t been able to face- I can’t be  _ her _ right now.”

“Then be a him. If it doesn’t work, we’ll try again, but I really don’t see why it would change things. The Creation, I mean.” He reached out and tugged at Crowley’s hand until he sprawled across the bed with a breathless laugh. “Still want to?”

“Yesss.”

They had experienced one another in so many ways, in the years since the apocalypse that wasn’t; hurried, passionate kisses and slow, sensual movements and everything in between. Tonight, they seemed to simply unfurl into one another’s arms, clothing discarded as it got in the way, until Aziraphale was gasping against Crowley’s skin, pressed deep into his beloved demon. Crowley, for his part, was dropping kisses into Aziraphale’s hair as the angel’s tongue teased at the base of his throat. They were in no hurry, but almost before they knew it their celestial bodies were trying to combine, trying to get impossibly closer as their corporations neared their limits.

“Now?” Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale stopped everything he was doing so that he could meet his eyes.   
“Sure about this?”

“Absolutely certain.” That was all the reassurance Aziraphale needed, and he nodded for Crowley to go ahead. They had spent days figuring out the best way to do this, but it didn’t need to be complicated. Crowley cupped his hands and focused as Aziraphale drove into him, and they both watched in astonishment as a faint glow began to flicker against his palms. Eyes fixed on Crowley - his hands, his eyes, his  _ everything _ \- Aziraphale couldn’t hold back, and the spark flashed brilliant white, illuminating the room from between the demon's fingers as they both came undone. Crowley’s eyes were watering from the effort of not crushing the tiny light in the throes of passion, and Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his knuckles, waiting for him to open his hands just a fraction.

“Not too late to back out,” Crowley whispered instead, trembling slightly, and Aziraphale kissed him again, trying to reassure him. “I mean- we still- if we don’t add the breath-”

“I want to finish it, if you do.” In truth, Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he’d cope if Crowley changed his mind now, now that they were so close to realising a dream he’d never even realised he’d cherished so dearly, but it wasn’t something either partner should be pressured into.

“Breath, then-” Crowley began, but Aziraphale clamped his hands over his lover’s.

“Please, Crowley. I need us both to be sure, I need your answer.”

“Yes.  _ Yes _ , I want to. Ready?”

He parted his hands, just slightly, creating a space between his thumbs and another between his palms at the other end of the cage he had formed for their spark. He leaned in at one end, and Aziraphale at the other, and their eyes locked, communicating silently.

_ 3, 2, 1…  _ Aziraphale breathed out, pushing all the love and hope and wonder he felt every time he looked at Crowley into the space between the demon’s hands. Crowley was doing the same, he knew, in the other direction, and then the spark was growing, crackling into a greater light as it rose from Crowley’s parting hands and drifted up into the air.

Aziraphale took the opportunity to disentangle their bodies, and the two sat watching as the light became larger and stronger, glowing so brightly that they almost had to look away.

“Has it worked?” Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale couldn’t give him an answer. Then, as suddenly as it had risen, the light went out. Aziraphale yelped, flooding the room with divine light of his own, praying there was something left to save - and found Crowley, looking utterly stunned, cradling a tiny newborn baby in his arms.

“Oh. Oh,  _ Crowley. _ ” The demon was staring at the child as though he’d never seen one before, his eyes looking suspiciously damp, and Aziraphale hurried to join his love and their child. Their surprisingly human-like child, Aziraphale realised suddenly, all helpless and corporeal.

“A daughter,” Crowley confirmed, as Aziraphale slipped his arms around him. “We have… we made a daughter.”

* * *

Crowley didn’t let go of the child for a single moment; not as Aziraphale miracled them both clean and clothed, not as the angel leaned in close to touch the baby’s cheek with one careful finger, and not as the love of his life clicked his fingers once more, a miracle filling the room next door with everything they’d need to keep their little girl safe and happy - at least for the first few months of her life. Aziraphale didn’t even look away, just reached behind him for a blanket he must have just wished up, and hesitated on the verge of handing it over.

“Crowley. May I-?”

For a split second, the demon panicked. He had handed over a child before, and it had been the most awful decision - but then common sense reasserted itself.  _ It’s Aziraphale. You’re safe. _

“Of course. You’re her father, after all.” Aziraphale looked as though he was considering falling down in a dead faint, but he pulled himself together and carefully took the tiny child into his own arms, wrapping her in a blanket with infinite care, beaming all the while.

“Hello, little one.” He glanced up at Crowley. “What do you think about a name?”

“Grace?” They’d discussed it, and Grace had been one of Aziraphale’s favourites for a girl’s name. Crowley had liked it well enough, he supposed, but he’d been wary of the Heavenly connotations. Now, looking at his daughter, he could see it.

“Grace,” Aziraphale confirmed. “Welcome to the world.”

Two weeks passed in a blissful sort of haze. Heating formula and changing nappies became a routine, of sorts, but both angel and demon kept finding themselves stopping mid-sentence, pausing mid-task, staring in wonder at the tiny person they’d created.

“I can’t believe you’re ours,” Crowley found himself telling her, one day, “you’re so perfect. Look at me, a demon with Grace.”

Aziraphale had laughed at him for that, and Crowley had laughed too. Things seemed easier than they had in a long time.

He had been afraid, when he’d called Adam to give him the good news, that the boy might have a change of heart and resent his new sister - godsister - whatever the relationship was. But Adam just seemed happy to hear the joy in his godparent’s voice, and when the call ended Crowley surprised himself by dialling another number, and then another. Newt had let out a high-pitched squeal of shock and dropped the phone; Anathema had picked it back up, congratulated them, and promised that she was there if they had any questions. Aziraphale had taken the phone, unwilling to be left out, before the next call could connect; Madame Tracy had laughed, delighted, and passed the news on to Sergeant Shadwell, who’d been politely baffled. They’d rather abruptly run out of people to tell, at that point, but it didn’t matter. They had each other.

Grace was fifteen days old when, sitting beneath the apple tree in their garden with his daughter in his arms, Crowley felt a familiar lurch in his stomach.  _ No. _ Aziraphale, beside him, straightened as he noticed Crowley’s sudden terror.

“Angel-” There was nothing for it; he had to give Grace to Aziraphale and pray he wasn’t being tricked again. He fought the Summoning valiantly, but he knew he only had seconds. “I’ll come back for you both,” he blurted, thrusting his daughter desperately into her father’s arms, and Aziraphale’s clear blue eyes held his for just an instant longer.

“I know you will. Be safe.”

Then they were gone, and Crowley was in Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm sorry. I'm the worst for leaving it there.

Aziraphale gathered his daughter closer against his own body and hurried inside, standing at the kitchen window to watch the spot where his demon had vanished. Grace opened her eyes, blue like his own, and stared up at him worriedly. Aziraphale had certainly had his fair share of turns at holding the baby, but Crowley had rarely left her side since her creation, always afraid that something would go wrong again and he would lose her. Now, she seemed to feel his absence in the same hollow, aching way that Aziraphale did, whenever Crowley left Earth. He had grown unaccustomed to the absence, in nearly four years, and he didn’t like it, especially when it was accompanied with such a gnawing sense of fear in his stomach.

Hell had left them alone for nearly four years, and now it seemed their fear had abated enough to allow them to Summon Crowley. He’d had the presence of mind to give Grace to Aziraphale, rather than allow her to be dragged down with him, but if Heaven decided to recall Aziraphale too, there was nobody to give her to. Heaven didn’t _ generally _go in for Summonings, preferring to simply throw their weight around until you gave in and reported to the office, but there was no telling what they might do in this strange, unended world.

Aziraphale held his daughter close, fixed his eyes on the space under the apple tree, and waited.

* * *

"Crowley. Come in, sit down." Satan looked nervous, somehow. Crowley raised an eyebrow and didn’t move from the spot by the door where he’d landed. He was determined not to show any fear; the slightest hint of weakness could put his family in danger. That couldn’t happen.

“Fairly certain I told you not to summon me again.”

“You did. But I heard there was a Creation.” Crowley bristled, despite himself, and Satan took it as confirmation. “Ah. I see. Where did you get the spark?”

“Made it.” He shrugged. “I had help.”

“It’s not…?”

“Yours?” Crowley snorted derisively. “No, she’s not yours. Even if she _ had _been, I’d never have let you see her. Why, were you looking for a new Antichrist?”

“I told you, I regret-”

“Yeah, yeah. You _ regret_. Did you have anything significant to say, or can I get back to my daughter? Only I’m getting tired of being torn away from my children.”

Satan didn’t seem to know what to say to that. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t a response at all.

“You’ve moved on, then.”

“Yeah. Yeah, finally, I’ve got someone who actually _ cares _for me. I’ve got somewhere I belong, and somebody I belong to. Two, actually. So let me go, and leave us alone.”

He wasn’t expecting it to work, but Satan just looked at him for a moment, suddenly seeming very old and very sad. Then he waved a clawed hand, and Crowley found himself back where he had been before. 

The garden was deserted; he had just enough time to panic - _ Did Heaven have his family? _\- before the sound of the kitchen door registered and, seconds later, Aziraphale pressed a blanket-wrapped bundle into his arms and clung to him.

“You’re back. You’re safe.”

“Yeah, angel. We’re safe.” Kissing over the top of a gurgling infant was a little awkward, but he couldn’t resist claiming his angel’s lips. “We’re safe now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second-to-last chapter of this story, but I will be back with more (since you're all so excited about Grace!). It might take a little longer than previous installments, but I also have some less Grace-centric additions to this universe that I can pop up in the meantime.


	7. Chapter 7

It was on a gloriously sunny morning that Aziraphale and Crowley climbed into the Bentley, bound for Lower Tadfield. 

"Fifteen," Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale reached out to touch his knee.

"How are you holding up?"

"I just can’t believe how much has changed. Adam’s nearly an adult, now, and then there’s Grace... What should we listen to, Gracie?”

Grace was not yet six months old, and in no way capable of giving a coherent answer, but she gurgled happily enough when “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” began to pour out of the Bentley’s speakers.

“You’ll love everyone in Tadfield, Grace,” Aziraphale assured her, turning in his seat to make sure that her carseat was properly secured in the back. They’d both checked - twice - already, but there was no harm in checking again. “They’re going to love you.”

“Ready?” Crowley waited for Aziraphale’s nod of confirmation before slowly, carefully pulling out into the road.

It was a long drive, made longer by the fact that they had to pull over twice to change Grace’s nappy and once to feed her, but they arrived at the party eventually. Proceedings were in full swing by the time Aziraphale reached the garden gate, music audible all along Hogback Lane.

“Ah. Bebop,” he told Grace over his shoulder, and Crowley - who was carrying her - immediately began informing her that Adam’s music was no such thing. Every conversation seemed to halt as the demon stepped into the garden, every eye on the bundle in his arms. For several long seconds, nobody moved, and then - just as Aziraphale was beginning to think that Crowley had stopped time by accident - Adam raced across the garden, arms outstretched.

“Grace! It’s so good to meet you! I’m sort of your big brother,” he paused, already halfway to taking her from Crowley, “can I hold her?”

“‘Course. I’ll have her back later.” Aziraphale very nearly burst with pride; that had sounded almost casual. They were working on Crowley’s fears, of course, but for now it was enough that he could play it cool, handing Grace to her older brother - godbrother - without a fuss, while still protecting himself enough to feel safe.

Anathema and Newt waved him over and he went willingly, leaving Crowley to supervise his children. They’d obviously been in the middle of a conversation with Madame Tracy, and Aziraphale attempted to join in, but after about thirty seconds the retiree burst out laughing, pointing over his shoulder. Aziraphale turned to see what was going on and couldn’t contain his own mirth.

“Baby.” The Pulsifer twins, now almost two years old and surprisingly steady on their feet, were walking towards Adam, chubby little fingers pointing at Grace. “Baby. Baby.”

“I did  _ not  _ teach them to be that creepy,” Anathema assured him under her breath, but Newt’s hangdog expression suggested that  _ he _ might, possibly, have thought it was funny at some point. Aziraphale didn’t care; he felt as though his heart was swelling up, filled to overflowing with affection, as Adam backed carefully away from the toddlers with his precious bundle, Crowley taking a defensive position between the two sides. Then, quick as a flash, he pounced, tickling fingers at the ready, sending the twins squealing gleefully across the garden.

Later, with Grace wholly engrossed in pulling Madame Tracy’s hair, Aziraphale found a quiet moment to wrap his arms around his demon.

“Everything all right?”

Crowley didn’t answer right away; he shot a quick thumbs-up at Adam, who seemed to be practicing his chat-up lines on a young Tadfield resident Aziraphale had never seen before, then smiled over towards where Grace was now trying to grab at a bemused Witchfinder Sergeant’s nose. Finally, he turned his attention to the angel, moving in to press their foreheads together.

“Everything’s perfect, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've reached the end of this one!
> 
> I've got a couple of one-shots on the go for this series, and then I'll be writing some cute domestic stuff as Grace grows up (there will probably be drama of some sort) so if those things interest you please subscribe to the series.
> 
> Thanks for joining me on this crazy adventure!


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